The Devil Inside
by MaybeIt'sTheVodka
Summary: Izaya. Evil? Insane? Something else entirely?
1. Chapter 1

_While in the middle of writing another fic, this story suddenly demanded to be written. I have...ideas about where it's going to go, but for the most part it is writing itself. This makes it difficult to know how to categorize it, but I do know that overall, this is going to be an Izaya-centric fic. Cause I like villains. :P_

.

.

.

The night holds secrets. Deep, permeating secrets of the kind that cannot be uttered aloud, only permitted to drift unassumingly through the atmosphere, leaving behind stale apparitions of what _was_ and what _is__ to __be._ For it is in those hours unaccompanied by sunlight that the truest of all crimes are committed. When lives are shattered like delicate glass, when souls are corrupted into puddles of black poison oil spills, when perception and sanity is shifted past the point of no return. Under cover of darkness, the true monsters come out of hiding. Some slither or crawl or creep, but the worst...the very worst...they walk.

.

.

"I love humanity! The entire human race, I love them so much!" The words burst forth from grinning lips, unable to remain contained any longer. The slim figure giggled maniacally as he spun himself around and around on the spiraling desk chair, the movement ruffling short, black hair in the process.

The shadowy outline of a female appeared in the doorway, grasping a small purse against her side. Her voice was the embodiment of disinterest. "I've finished all the paperwork. I'm going home."

The petite form in the chair continued to rocket around in circles, laughing to himself and seemingly oblivious to the conversation. Namie remained in the doorway, watching him as he spun around in the fashion of a retarded toddler, sighing quietly to herself. Her thoughts turned to the time, and the growing number of tasks still lined up for the evening that she had wanted to accomplish. The sun had set hours before, despite the fact that Izaya had promised earlier that she would be off by three or four.

_He__ kept __me__ here __late __because__ he __knew__ I__ had __things __to__ do._ All of the pointless requests he kept adding on as the day grew later...she was almost certain Izaya was just coming up with them to fuck with her. Eyes cold as she watched him, she nonetheless held her composure. Part out of pride and a narcissistic sense of appearing unaffected by his antics ('_superior', __she__ felt __herself __thinking_), and part out of a deeper sense of caution and self-preservation. Because when it came to narcissism, she was good...but he was better. His went beyond the standard self-absorption and ego-driven behavior into something much deeper, something that bordered on psychosis. And as someone who knew how to control others and get what she wanted, she also knew when to step back and wait for the right time. One day, he would get what was due to him...but only at the right time. Because one false move meant clear and instant death. Or if she was unlucky, perhaps a not-so-instant one.

She held her stance.

The chair made creaking sounds as it continued on its circular path. Without warning, a pale hand shot out and grabbed onto the desk, stopping the chair's movement in one violent jerking motion. Izaya stared out across the vast room at his secretary, reddish-tinted gaze never once succumbing to the results of vertigo. Where many would be left dry-heaving in dizziness from the ride, he simply sat there, knees pulled up against his chest, and stared. The frenzied laughter had stopped as abruptly as the chair, but his grin remained. "Leaving so soon, Namie-chan?" He shot her his most charming, innocent expression.

Deciding to just ignore his bullshit, she threw the straps of her purse around her shoulder decisively and simply stated, "yes. I'm leaving now."

"Hmm..." Izaya tilted his head and pursed his lips in mocked disappointed. "But what about all of the important things I had to have done?"

"It's all finished. I'm sure you'll find everything completed to your satisfaction." Her voice was emotionless, containing none of the hate that she felt for the black-clad boy sitting in front of her.

He continued looking at her, and for a second she wondered if it was possible that he knew what she was thinking. That those eyes, so often filled with enthusiasm, yet at the same time seeming to hold nothing of human emotion, were capable of prying into the heads of his human playthings. She shifted her gaze slightly and he giggled, as if knowing that he'd won the fight. "Ah, well all right then. You can go if you _really_ want to." he paused, and then added, "take the next two days off, Namie-chan."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Two days?" She couldn't help but wonder if he was planning something. Trust was never one of her strong points, especially with Izaya.

"Forty eight hours. Well, technically more than that, because of the night.." he tapped his watch, brows furrowed. "But you don't need to be back here until Friday morning. I'll try to get by on my own without you." he put a hand dramatically up to his forehead.

"I'm sure you'll manage," she responded, going through lists in her head of all the tasks she'd be able to accomplish. "You managed to do everything else on your own before you hired me."

And then there was that grin again. She called it evil personified, but to him to was just a grin. "Namie-san is so good to me!"

"Yes, well...that's my job, isn't it?" she fished her keys out of the dark clutches of the purse, hoping that she could get out of Izaya's apartment in as timely a manner as possible. Her statement hadn't been said in order to stroke the crazy man's ego, rather a remark about the oddity of him hiring her in the first place. Despite being completely certifiable, he was annoyingly competent in most aspects of life. She was pretty sure that he had hired her not out of any actual need, but for the sole purpose of tormenting her

"Hmm, yes," he was fiddling with a small chess piece now. From where it had appeared, she had no idea. His voice was distant now, seeming almost lost. But she knew better. Izaya was never, ever lost. Only periodically caught in between his last move and his next. Like a game. So fitting that he was currently holding a chess piece..

In a final attempt to leave, Namie spoke again. "There's a fresh batch of soup in the fridge. I made a lot so there should be enough until Friday if you want it." She doubted he would eat it. When she had first started working for Izaya, she had seriously considered throwing a serving of rat poison into his food. That would have been fitting. She never did it, but always wondered what would have happened if she had. Would he have somehow known and come after her? Disposed of her in some messy way? Or would he have eaten it and somehow survived regardless? She almost figured the latter would be most accurate. You can't kill the devil, after all. So she never did it, although she rarely saw him eat anyway. Which brought up a whole 'nother slew of assumptions in itself. Perhaps the devil doesn't need to eat.

Izaya interrupted her thoughts."Thank you, I'm sure it's delicious." He put the chess piece down on the desk in front of him and looked up at her again. "You are an interesting person, Namie-san. Humans are so very interesting, aren't they?"

She shivered at his words and simply nodded slowly. _How do you respond to that? _

He flashed another grin - _evil personified - _and waved her out. "Friday, then?"

.

.

.

_Comments are love_._ Let me know what you think so far?_


	2. Chapter 2

_I know this chapter seems 100% unrelated to chapter 1, but bear with me..._

.

For what seemed like the millionth time that night, Shizuo's phone was ringing. Except that it wasn't really ringing so much as singing Tarako obnoxiously. Damn Shinra had programmed the horrific ringtone onto his phone as his idea of a joke, which wouldn't have been so bad if Shizuo had any idea how to set it back to its original tone. He held the small electronic irritation in one hand, contemplating just smashing the thing and buying a new one the next day. The only thing stopping him was the fact that he was expecting a call from Tom, and if he was any one thing, he was a loyal friend.

He glanced at the number - unknown - flashing across the lit up screen. If it wasn't one thing it was another... This particular number (or so he assumed was the same anonymous person) had been pestering him nonstop the last several hours. He had answered a few times, patience running thinner with each response. Silence had been the only retort, every time. He doubted this time would be any different, but if nothing else, answering it would stop that dreaded ringtone. One finger, shaky with anger, hit the answer button. "What?"

At first, there was nothing. Yet again. Static buzzed quietly in the background like silent laughter. Shizuo was just about to yell some obscenity into the receiver when a voice finally spoke. "Shizu-chan, is that how you answer the phone? So impolite."

"I...za...ya?" Of course it was him. Who else would it have been, after all? Shizuo fumed. "You've been calling me this whole time?" A red glow was beginning to appear on the bleached blonde's face as infuriation surged.

He could almost hear the dismay in the other boy's voice as Shizuo spoke. "Aren't you happy to hear from me?"

"Why...would that make me happy?"

"Don't be mean." Despite being physically separated from each other, Shizuo could just see Izaya's pout from the other line of the phone. It made him wish the two were closer to one another so he could punch that obnoxious expression right off the other boy's face.

At some point in the past, Shizuo had come up with a nickname for his adversary. While "flea" sounded trite to the common observer, it actually fit the little runt in more ways than just his diminutive stature. Izaya was a parasite. Biting and sucking the life out of everyone he came into contact with like some kind of deranged vampire. For the most part, his bites were mostly just an annoyance. A sharp prick that causes one to smack at their skin repeatedly in hopes of smashing the perpetrator. _And I've tried, _Izaya thought. _Fleas are harder to smash than they look. _But the problem with parasites is that, sometimes, they take you down. Enough tiny bites add up to a lot of missing blood, infected like poison. People who spent a lot of time with Izaya tended to eventually disappear.

"What the hell do you even want?" Shizuo asked, rubbing his temples slowly, eyes closed behind shaded glasses. The tension of the evening was beginning to become unbearable.

The voice on the other end took no time at all to reply, as if he had been waiting with baited breath to submit his invitation. "To have dinner with you, Shizu-chan. You haven't eaten yet?"

"Uh..." Shizuo's mouth was a perfect outline of confusion.

Without waiting for him to answer, Izaya continued. "Russian Sushi. You know the place. Be there at 9:00."

The phone went dead, the informant clearly having said everything he meant to say. Shizuo simply stared down at the cell, unable to even comprehend what was going on. _What could he possibly want?_

Several seconds went by before the phone lit up again and began cheerfully singing Tarako again. The name in the caller ID identified the individual as Tom Tanaka. Shizuo hit end without even answering. Tom could wait. This was worth checking out, if only for the chance to finally get Izaya alone and crush the little flea.


	3. Chapter 3

"There is blood in everything that I see." The whispered voice carried itself through the dark room. It glided through the spacious atmosphere as if on air currents; tangible in an intangible world.

A dark figure crouched in that same computer chair that he had occupied for the last several uneventful hours, eerie grin plastered on a pale face. Without warning, the grin split open and an overexcited giggle tore out from pale lips. "How very dramatic of you. But it's to be expected..." he paused, and then his face morphed once again into an expression somewhere in between exhilaration and anticipation, "from someone as splendid as you!"

There was no reply, but Izaya didn't seem to be expecting one anyway. He glanced up at the clock on the wall and frowned. Twenty till nine. He'd need to leave now if he didn't want to be late. Wouldn't want to keep Shizuo waiting, after all. Standing up, he tugged the familiar fur-lined coat from the hook from which it hung and pulled it through his arms, snugging it tightly across his chest and fastening it. It was the only armor he ever wore, despite the fact that he continuously put himself in dangerous positions. The fact that he could be hurt rarely even occurred to him, even when dodging vending machines and streetlamps. To him, Shizuo was part of the game. Another chess piece in the bigger picture. And what if he were to be caught by his nemesis one day? The possibility only intrigued him even more. As long as he was always at least one step ahead -which he always was- it was still just a game. As far as Izaya was concerned, he always held all the strings, and he intended to keep it that way. The door swung shut behind him as he stepped outside, clicking neatly into place as it did so.

.

.

The wind was picking up as Shizuo pulled open the door of Russian Sushi. It whipped through his hair and sent it flying upward, an arrangement that annoyed the boy in the bartender suit. He did his best to flatten it back down as he stepped inside the establishment, immediately casing the joint in search of Izaya. His hands automatically pulled themselves into fists when he saw the flea sitting towards the back. It was hard not to yell his characteristic I_ZA_YA, let alone grab a large object and send it flying towards his proclaimed enemy. _'Just wait', _he told himself. _'See what he has to say first, and then you can flatten him.' _

Izaya spotted him from the short distance away and raised one hand in a friendly wave. His happy eyes were closed and a huge grin enveloped his face. He looked like a cat who just ate a bird. Immediate suspicion. Shizuo walked slowly in the direction of the other boy, feeling like he was walking into a trap. He kept his eyes, covered by tinted sunglasses, on the lookout for large objects with which to throw at Izaya if the other gave any hint of violence.

On the contrary, Izaya showed no sign of starting a fight. "I ordered for you, I hope you don't mind."

'_That's his greeting?' _a confused Shizuo thought to himself. He wasn't used to this. A flicker of silver as Izaya pulled out his knife, now that would be something expected. Either that or a flash of black as Izaya leapt to and fro in escape. But this? He didn't know whether to thank his nemesis for ordering his meal or smack him upside the head for the lack of courtesy in ordering food without asking what kind of sushi he preferred first. Instead, Shizuo just stood there, confused.

Izaya's grin remained intact. He didn't even bat an eye as he exclaimed, "it's considered rude to just stand there. Come, sit with me!"

Just as slowly as he had walked to the back of the restaurant, Shizuo bent his knees and pulled himself up to the short table, resting on the soft cushion beneath him. He stared across the empty table, decorated only with napkins and chopsticks, at the boy he considered his sworn enemy. His throat seemed constricted, unable to put into words the questions that he had. The inability to do such a simple act tugged at the part of his brain that was responsible for feeling annoyed. It was all he could do to restrain himself from flipping the short table up and pinning the brat against the wall. Izaya just stared right back at him with that cat smile, saying nothing. Shizuo closed his eyes for just a second, trying to center himself. Finally, he spoke. "So what's this about, flea? Why did you invite me to dinner?"

For a second, Izaya almost looked offended. "Why? You don't like the date I planned for us?"

Shizuo could feel his cheeks immediately grow hot. '_Is that what this is about? A friggin' date?' _

Izaya's eyes went wide. "What's the matter? Don't you want to go on a date with me?" And then the dark haired boy was giggling. "Don't get so frightened. I simply wanted to talk to you. I figured we might as well get something to eat at the same time."

"Oh." He hoped the boy in the coat couldn't see his still-flushed cheeks. To his luck, a server dressed in a white kimono suddenly appeared beside their table, holding a plate covered with sushi. He welcomed the distraction, willing his embarrassment to fade as the server placed several plates of the fish on the table in front of them. To his surprise, Izaya had ordered no less than eight types of sushi.

"Don't worry," Izaya stated, misinterpreting Shizuo's startled expression. "I'm paying for everything. Eat whatever you want. I tried to order dishes I thought that you'd like."

For several seconds, the bleach-blonde felt like an ass. Izaya had obviously spent a lot of money, and most of the sushi rolls _were _ones that he might have ordered for himself anyways. He hesitantly picked up his pair of chopsticks and used them to grab a piece. "Thanks," he muttered with a mouth full of fish and rice. Izaya simply smiled again. That annoying grin that was _really _beginning to look like a cat. _What was that cat again that he was thinking of? Oh yeah, a Cheshire cat._ A creature full of secret intentions. Despite this current act of politeness, he still couldn't help but distrust the skinny boy with the dark hair.

After several minutes and a number of sushi pieces consumed by the hungry bodyguard, Shizuo spoke. "Aren't you going to eat?" The other boy had been simply staring across the table, watching quietly with his arms crossed neatly across the table.

"But I sooo like watching you eat, Shizu-chan! Makes me feel like we _are_ on a date!"

One arm shot out and grabbed the little flea by the collar. It took all of Shizuo's restraint not to hurl him across the room. "STOP saying we're on a date! And STOP CALLING ME SHIZU-CHAN!"

The Cheshire grin stayed perfectly intact, its owner knowing full-well that the threats were just noise. At least at this point. Any further and it probably would turn into an all-out brawl, however. Perhaps it was time to defuse the situation. Izaya dropped the expression he had been carrying since his nemesis had stepped in the door, opting for a look of apologetic plea instead. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "Perhaps I had too much sake earlier. Sometimes I say strange things when I'm drunk. Please forgive my rudeness."

Shizuo narrowed his eyes. The only glass on the table that sat near Izaya was filled with water. No alcohol in sight. He looked into the eyes in front of him, searching for any sign of deceitfulness. But such things were impossible to see in Izaya. Always had been. Finally, sighing heavily, he released his grip on the shorter boy's collar and sat back, leaning against the wall behind him. Emotions still fueled with anger, he plucked the next piece of sushi from the plate with such force that it practically exploded between his chopsticks. Bits of rice flew all over the table. Shizuo closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to count to ten. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. Finally, he spoke, eyes still closed. "What's this about, flea?"

The pause that followed was prolonged. Izaya was either trying to build the mood or else had no idea himself of why the two of them were there. When Shizuo opened his eyes again

-ready to punch something- he was greeted to the sight of his companion staring at the table, a peculiar expression on his face. He looked up slowly, strands of dark hair falling mysteriously over his eyes, and began to talk in a quiet whisper. "Do you believe in Valkyries?"

Confusion. "Huh, what are you talking about?"

"What about prophesies?" the other boy continued. "Imperative events? Fate?"

Shizuo shook his head. "I've no idea what you're getting at." He took a stab at another piece of sushi, successfully this time, and swallowed it whole.

It was Izaya's turn to sigh. "Of course. You need to see it. Then you'll know." In a manner opposite of Shizuo's, he slowly picked at a piece of sushi with a pair of chopsticks, pulling it apart with delicate precision and leaving the pieces strewn across the plate.

"What are you talking abo-"

Before he could finish his question, Shizuo was interrupted. "I have something of yours. Or rather, a friend of yours. I really think you might want to come take a look at it."

.

.

_Comments = Love_


End file.
